


Office Hours

by ventusproximus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: A very messy floor, Drunk Sex, M/M, One Shot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, poor decision-making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventusproximus/pseuds/ventusproximus
Summary: After having a little too much to drink, Rodimus takes on a dare from Swerve. What he finds isn't exactly what he (or anyone else) expected.
Relationships: Rodimus | Rodimus Prime/Ultra Magnus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 80





	Office Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I came up with while bored at work. Special thanks to my buddy Imperator for proofreading and partially inspiring this one-shot.

“So I told him, ‘Why don’t you waltz on in there and do it?’. And that crazy turbofox actually  _ did  _ it! He’s probably still in there right now.” 

“But how did he get in there in the first place? You know Ultra Magnus never forgets to lock his door before he leaves.” Nautica was idly tapping away at the countertop and nursing her triple-distilled drink. Little pockets of bots were seated here and there in the bar, filling the air with a steady drone of chatter. Bowls half-full with snacks of various shapes sat between each patron, gleaming violet in the low, cool light. 

“Well,” Swerve called back from across the communal table, in between cleaning glasses, “Whirl knows a thing or two about getting into places he doesn’t belong-”

“Yeah I do.” 

“Don’t interrupt. Anyway, he got Rodimus in before anyone could even guess that something was up. That’s what I dared him to do: break into Mags’ office, find out what dirty little secrets he’s got hiding in that neat little desk of his, and spill all the sordid details. I told him I’d make his drink on the house...And clear his tab. Negotiations,” the smaller bot mused. Swerve’s bar was relatively quiet for such a calamity-free evening-- but just populated enough to feel intimate. Tailgate, packed snugly between Nautica and Skids, chimed in. His optics were practically giving off sparks, albeit not in their usual panicky way.

“Let’s bet on how much longer it takes him to get back! Five shanix says he’s not back for another two hours. Whirl?” 

“I see your five, but  _ ten  _ shanix says Maggy finds him in the next twenty minutes, tosses him out by his aft, and convinces Megatron to throw him out the airlock. Plus something gets blown up. Been too long since something’s blown up around here, and it’s unsettling.” Whirl paused, snapped his pincers, then added, “Skids? Naughty?” He craned his head. “Brainy? Nightlight?” The latter two (along with the other nearby patrons) merely stared back, either out of incredulousness, drunkenness, or a desire to keep their currency. 

Skids swigged his engex with a tispy smile. “Well,” he began, clinking his glass against the bar, “Let’s say he manages to find something very un-Magnus in there-- which is pretty unlikely, I might add --it’d take him an eternity just to get everything back the way he found it. And that’s  _ if  _ he can even do that. He’d probably find a way to leave behind accidental proof of him having been in there, like a doodle of himself carved right into the metal of Magnus’ desk. I bet ten shanix that it takes him the better part of five hours to get back here.” 

“How exactly does one accidentally carve a drawing into a desk, Skids?” said Nautica.

“Eh, weirder things have happened on this ship. I totally buy it.” 

“Six hours, and he comes up empty-handed,” Nautica added, giving Tailgate a cheerful pat on the arm. The miniature bot leaned affectionately into the gesture, then slid his fair share of shanix into the betting pool that had formed on the table.

“Then it’s all settled, folks. Anyone got any non-war-related stories to pass the time?” 

* * *

Tablets, stationery, and old Rodimus Stars littered the floor of Ultra Magnus’ once-immaculate office. In the center of the carnage knelt Rodimus, examining every nook and cranny of the room, down to the very bolts keeping the walls together. 

“C’mon, there’s gotta be something juicy in here, something that’d kill him if anyone found out…” The most interesting things he’d found to date were several copies of Megatron’s poetry, which in itself was still about as interesting as sitting alone in the oil reservoir. He grabbed his glass from where it sat on the desk, and drained half its contents in one go. He’d bought more than his fair share of Old Corroder, which he was now sorely regretting. With a melodramatic sigh, he stumbled to his feet and began gathering up everything he’d previously disturbed. The energon certainly wasn’t helping his memory, but he followed the mental image that his brain was providing him with: all the Rodimus Stars over here, arranged by date, and then alphabetically (had he  _ seriously _ given Magnus a star for “Straightest Posture”?)... The desk tidy belonged in this corner, unread tablets in that one...And so on. A few times he bumped into the desk and knocked it off-kilter, and a few times he readjusted it. Primus, it was irritating how clean this office was. It felt wrong just to exist in a place like this. 

It felt even more wrong when the sound of perfectly-timed marching reached his processors. So he did what any accountable co-captain would do when struck with the possibility of being seen somewhere he shouldn’t: he scrambled to his feet, grabbed his Old Corroder, and made a dive for the desk. It was unexpectedly roomy beneath it, but Rodimus still had to fold his legs and keep his chest low to the floor to stay fully submerged in the shadows. The mechanical sliding open of the door made the hand holding his drink tremble, but he dared not set it down and risk making a sound. He could hear Ultra Magnus setting a fresh stack of data pads onto his desk, and no doubt clearing away every last mote of dust that may have settled on it in the handful of hours he’d been out. 

“Hmm...What’s this, then?”, Magnus muttered.

Rodimus decided that Magnus’ tone was irritable, similar to when he’d see--

_ Oh. Oh, no.  _

Rodimus steadied his arm for long enough to notice a few purple beads rolling lazily down the side of his glass. The suspicions were doubly confirmed when he heard an irked grunt, followed by some vigorous scrubbing and a light shaking of the desk. And he was going  _ to town  _ on that spill, even though it was probably a puddle so negligible that any normal bot would ignore it. Rodimus curled himself into an even tighter shape and scanned the legroom under the desk for any other drops of engex he may have left behind. Sure enough, there was a small trail leading to his hiding spot, which he had to inch forward to clearly see. Any hope he had of wiping it up in time was dashed when Magnus rounded the desk and took a seat in his chair; Rodimus all but flattened himself up against the modesty panel in order to avoid getting kicked. Taking a data pad off his stack, Magnus leaned back, sighed deeply, and began reading. At least, that’s what seemed to be happening. Rodimus could only see the bot’s legs from where he knelt. He was distracted for the time being, thankfully, but Rodimus was still intoxicated and crammed into a small space with no hope of a timely escape. The ship’s enforcer had that faint, contented look on his face, which he recognized as the expression he made when he was reading something enjoyable and grammatically correct. Probably more of that awful poetry. And yet, there was something vaguely spark-warming about seeing Magnus taking some time off for himself, practically smiling (by Magnus’ standards) over a gift given to him by the only other person on the Lost Light who could empty an entire room just by showing up. His posture was  _ still  _ perfect, too; Rodimus remembered why he’d awarded him that star now. 

The scene stopped being endearing after several minutes. Magnus could’ve passed for a statue, save for the occasional swiping of his thumb, and Rodimus’ legs were starting to go stiff. To make matters worse, it would only be a matter of time before his present company finished his leisure reading and noticed the trail of engex. Rodimus tightened the grip around his glass and forced himself to think the situation through. Perhaps someone would come calling for Magnus and get him to leave...Then again, it was just as likely that someone would come calling for Rodimus himself. He was entrenched in a waiting game now; head swimming, spark racing. 

Rodimus was so far out of his own body that he took no notice when Magnus slid back in his chair and crossed his legs, which slid forward and bumped right up against his side. In a split second, Magnus had sprung out of his chair, dropped into a crouch under his own desk, and had the barrel of his gun pointed squarely at his head. The shock had clearly reached the enforcer’s face before it could reach his vocal processors, since almost a minute passed before any words were spoken. 

“Rodimus? That’s not you, is it?” 

“Hi.” Nope, definitely him. Curled up into a ball, drunk off his aft, and in a situation that didn’t look good from  _ any  _ angle, but it was him. 

“Rather than ask the very long series of questions I have for you, I’m going to ask just one: is there a reason why you’re under  _ my  _ desk, in  _ my  _ locked office, with a glass of engex in your hand?” Magnus cast a look around the room and narrowed his eyes. “Engex that you’ve gone and spilt, no less.” 

The gun pulled away from his face as Magnus rose to clean up the offending puddles. In spite of wanting more than anything to stand up and bolt for the door, Rodimus merely sat in his folded-up pose and sipped his drink thoughtfully. 

“I’ve got a couple answers I could give you. Which one do you want?” Silent scrubbing, followed by a sigh so irritable that it bore no resemblance to the satisfied one Magnus made when he’d thought he was alone. When the floor was spotless once again, the latter plopped down in his seat and stared down into Rodimus’ half-shut eyes. 

“I want all of your answers, in order of relative veracity,” he retorted. 

The captain took another, smaller swig of his Old Corroder. “You got it. So, the first, false-ist answer I can give you is that we all wanted to throw you a surprise party, but nobody knew your birthday. And obviously we can’t tell  _ you _ about it, ‘cause it’d ruin the surprise.” 

“Which is obviously false, as we have digital records of everyone onboard the Lost Light.” 

“Yeah, that’s what makes it the falsiest, Mags. Second answer is, me and the rest of Team Rodimus are playing a game of hide and seek, and right now it’s Chromedome’s turn to seek. What better place to hide than a locked office that belongs to the law enforcement guy?” Rodimus chuckled, either amazed by his ability to come up with lies on the fly, or mortified by the sheer asininity of the situation. Crawling forward, he emerged from underneath the desk and sat, legs crossed, with his head resting up against the desk’s work surface. He was situated between either of Magnus’ massive legs, teetering gently. 

“Care to explain to me how you got into my office in the first place?” He’d shut his optics and was pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Getting to that, yeah. Yeah, so, truthiest...True answer is that Swerve dared me to break into your place and find something. Something weird or un-Ultra Magnus. He promised to clear my tab if I got back with proof and told him all about it.” 

Magnus’ hands were steepled now. He scanned the entire scene before him, as if he were trying to puzzle out what to do with the drunken orange mess currently heaped on his floor. He sighed again- today seemed to be a sigh-heavy day -and spoke in a gentle tone. 

“Look, why don’t we forget this whole situation ever happened, and I’ll escort you back to your quarters. You can tell Swerve and the others that you didn’t find anything,  _ tomorrow _ .” After the briefest pause, he added, “Do you need help standing?” 

His outstretched hand was swatted away, albeit weakly, by one of Rodimus’ own. But in the process of doing so, the Old Corroder sloshed about and rained onto the floor in an arc between the two. “Hey, Mags, not so hasty. Give it a couple months or years and this can be a funny story that we’ll laugh about over drinks with everyone else. Why’d you wanna give that up? And uh...Gimme something so I don’t have to go back empty-handed. Doesn’t have to be anything super weird, just weird enough to shut Swerve up.” 

“Rodimus, you’re making a mess-” 

“I know.” 

“Yes, but you’re making even more of a mess than before.” Magnus was attempting to pry the drink out of his captain’s hand, with a resounding lack of success. His hand was slicked with energon when he eventually gave up and pulled away. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty, gigantic head. I’ll clean it up, got that?” Rodimus arched his back, then lurched into a face-down kneel. “Look, I’ll do it right now.” He ran his tongue over the multitude of tiny energon puddles, lapping them up before his onlooker could get a word in edgewise. Once he’d cleaned the space immediately in front of him, he looked left and right for more droplets, tongue still lolling. “Your hand,” he murmured with a lick of his lips. Wasting no time, Rodimus leaned over across Magnus’ knee and began sucking the engex off each finger.

Magnus let out a soft groan of repulsion. “This isn’t...You don’t have to do this, Rodimus. Please, just let go. His index finger made a soft  _ pop  _ as it left the other’s mouth. With his wet hand he closed Rodimus’ jaw and held him in place by the chin. “What’s gotten into you tonight? I’ve seen you drink, but this is…” He gestured vaguely, optics wider than any of the moons beyond the hull of the ship. “This is something else entirely. What’s in that glass of yours?” Even now, Rodimus was vying to lick his hand. Magnus eased his grip so the poor fool wouldn’t accidentally bite his own tongue off. 

“Ifff..Iff...Oll Corrorer,” Rodimus replied, now dangerously close to being able to lick Magnus’ palm. 

“Old Corroder? No wonder, it’s stronger than...Nevermind that.” He slid his hand over to the captain’s shoulder and held him firmly where he sat, which (mercifully) prompted him to withdraw his tongue. “How much of it have you-” 

“Whoops.” 

The enforcer’s lap was now awash in bright purple, with countless beads of engex rolling down his legs and dripping from the seat of his chair. Rodimus tossed his now empty glass aside and watched it roll into one of the corners nearest the door. In Magnus’ moment of shock, he freed himself from the grip and sidled up to kneel between the bot’s thighs. “Classic ‘Rod moment right there, being clumsy and all.” He splayed his hands eagerly over the other’s hips and lowered his head, still keeping his gaze fixed upward. “But like I said, I’ll clean it,” he crooned. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the spot, then followed up with several more, licking his lips when he was tentatively finished. “Tasty.” 

“Don’t-” 

“Sorry, did I steal your line?” Rodimus teased, before returning to the task at hand. His tongue rolled over every wet surface that it could reach, from thigh to waist. A lopsided, drunken smile crossed his face when he saw his enforcer’s hands squeeze the arms of his chair and shake under the effort. With a bright peal of laughter, he doubled his pace, slurping up the engex as if it were the only drink he’d had in months. Regardless of whether or not Magnus’ lap was actually  _ cleaner  _ than it had been before, when no more streaks of purple remained, his mouth roamed back to Magnus’ released spike and kissed its base. He licked up the shaft, taking all of the transfluid that had already leaked out, and went as far down on it as he could manage. From up above him, his company was groaning through clenched teeth.

“That’s  _ enough _ , now,” Magnus boomed, seizing Rodimus by the throat and pushing him to arm’s length. The smaller bot let out a cry of protest, but was too limp to put up much of a fight. 

“Hey! Stop…” He gulped, lips wet. “Stop interrupting me.” He was batting weakly at the impeding wrist, which was still shaking.

“Rodimus, you’re very charming, but this isn’t necessary. We can still-” 

“I  _ said _ , don’t interrupt. If you want me to get the frag out of here, show me something weird.” 

“I don’t think you fully grasp what you’re demanding.”

“Oh yeah? Prove me wrong, then. Or else I’m going to pounce back onto your spike.” 

Magnus gently released his captive and leaned forward in his (still damp) chair. Seamlessly, he reached for one of his desk drawers, third from the top, and unlocked it. “Don’t say things like that,” he muttered back. He slid out a false bottom, to Rodimus’ audible surprise, and dug around inside. He removed two items: one that he wrapped around his palm, and one that he snapped in place around his captain’s throat. “There, are you happy?” he quipped, the arousal in his voice far outweighing the irritation. 

“Mmm, stasis collar. I always knew you were a closet freak, deep down. But even as a freak you’re still so fragging stuffy.” He stroked Magnus’ hand as the leash was hooked to the front of his new neckpiece. “Alright, guess I’ll be getting out of here. Thanks for humoring me, Mags. Let me just…” Rodimus struggled, with little success, to rise to his feet. It took him several tries, and only once he’d gotten purchase on the edge of the desk could he stand. The enforcer was staring at him as if he were one of his favorite energon snacks. “Um. Mags?”

“Hm?” 

“Wanna...You know, take the collar off and let me go?” Stumbling, he pointed in the general direction of the door. 

“Oh, right,” Magnus murmured, distant. He rose easily, towering over the other bot, and pulled him closer to reach for the collar. Rodimus steadied himself against the massive chest. He slipped two fingers beneath it to caress his neck, but made no move to unlock it. On the contrary, he wound the leash further around his palm, forcing the gap between them to close. “Or, perhaps you’re right. I’d hate to let you walk through that door and forget this ever happened.” 

Rodimus lifted a leg and hooked it around the back of Magnus’ waist. It was a bad idea-- he lost balance, toppled backward, and had to be caught by the gentle arms that were keeping him corralled in. He leaned completely against the desk now, with his back pressed flat to the worksurface. And with hazy surprise still painted onto his face, he looked up with a smile. “Knew you’d come around,” he sighed. Magnus doubled over him to deliver a kiss; it was so chaste as to be nearly alarming, but he more than made up for it by grabbing the back of Rodimus’ thigh and nudging his legs apart. 

“While we’re both being utterly filthy, I suppose I’ll say it outright. You always did have the cutest aft,” punctuating his thought by squeezing the respective area of his captain’s body. Satisfied with the moan he’d garnered in response, he ran two fingers across the bot’s thigh and slid them into his valve. He eased a bit of the slack on the leash when Rodimus arched his back, but the reaction only drove his fingers in deeper. “And it turns out you have a cute valve, to match.” 

“ _ Primus! _ ”, Rodimus cried, too loud. He clung wildly to the edges of the desk, while his legs crossed behind the small of Magnus’ back. Everywhere he’d been touched so far felt sticky with engex and transfluid; even the hand that fingered him was soaked already. It was difficult to think, let alone get a coherent phrase out, but he managed. “Magnus, please…” 

The fingers were pulling out, but they still ran across his valve and thumbed the node there. “Yes, love?” Magnus purred, leaning back in to realign the desk tidy in the corner. Evidently, all of Rodimus’ jostling had moved it out of its proper place. With that done, he gave him another peck on the mouth, and one along his jaw. 

“Stop fixing up your desk, you fragging bore, and frag me for real,” he blurted. 

His legs still felt like liquid, but he mustered up all his strength to pull their hips closer together. Magnus complied, and wound the leash until the entire thing was more or less coiled in his grasp. Rodimus spasmed and twitched against the desk as the spike entered him, completely wet, and stretched his valve to the point where he thought he’d nearly break. His voice rang out and clattered against the office walls, a voice that didn’t even sound like it belonged to him. Magnus’ thrusting was slow and saccharine, as if he feared his partner may be too fragile to handle his worst. Gathering Rodimus up in his arms, he rose, sat down on the desk’s workspace, and eased the captain fully down onto it. With only a few precious inches of slack left on the leash, he tugged upward on the collar, driving the bot’s face upward into forced eye contact. 

“Is that better?” His tone of voice melted Rodimus’ circuits. 

“Nnnnngh…” 

Magnus chuckled softly and gave him a fourth kiss, this one long enough for Rodimus to slip his tongue in and get lost in the feeling. The kiss broke when the enforcer bucked his hips a touch too hard, sending the captain bouncing upward. But the tension on the collar only let him throw his head back so far, and his neck snapped forward. Magnus steadied him against his own body. 

“ _ Oh frag, yeah, _ ” he screamed. He rolled his hips in time with his partner, though he most likely resembled a beached sharkticon. It wasn’t like he cared. His only concern now was piquing himself into a climax, and he made sure Magnus knew it when he pushed his vocal processor to the limit while shouting his name. The latter obliged, taking his waist in a vice grip and thrusting with no reprieve. 

Rodimus’ optics failed on him for a few precious moments as he released, spilling rivulets of transfluid down the shaft of Magnus’ spike and into his lap. The room was spinning around him, and the only things rooting him in place were the sensation of searing fluid being shot into him, and the hands now sliding down to caress his aft and thighs. The husky voice currently showering him in compliments seemed miles away; the lips on his neck felt completely foreign. He was wobbling. Oh-- he was falling backward. The familiar shock of pain greeted him as he hit the floor, knocking Magnus’ chair aside. He whimpered, mostly to himself. Within moments, his dutiful enforcer was at his side, scooping him up like a toy, holding him like a conjunx would. 

“Magnus?” 

“What is it?” It was amazing how much concern could be contained in just three words. 

“The collar?” 

Magnus blinked his optics, disarmed. “Of course, love. One moment.” 

Rodimus rolled his neck appreciatively upon being freed, prompting a small smile of relief. “Okay, but tell me. Are you always this  _ gushy _ ? Calling me ‘love’ and ‘gorgeous’ when you usually only question my leading...Lead...Leadership.” 

“Leadership,” Magnus affirmed. “Maybe I’m just too sentimental for my own good, Rodimus. Maybe the fumes from your engex got to me. I don’t even feel the immediate need to clean up the mess you’ve made of my office. You, on the other hand...” Licking his fingertips, he reached down between Rodimus’ legs and wiped away a great deal of the fluid that was plastered to them. The whole ordeal took him several passes, but he seemed far from bothered by having to lick his transfluid-coated fingers “Try and get the rest of this off when you return to your quarters.”

“But you were serious about me having a cute aft, right?” Rodimus shifted around in Magnus’ arms in an attempt to wiggle said aft-- for emphasis, naturally. “You’re never  _ not  _ serious.” 

“I was serious. Now, can you stand?” 

“Nope. Carry me out. That’s an order.”

Magnus sighed his usual sigh. He set Rodimus down against his will, but snaked one of the captain’s arms around his waist and held him in place by the shoulder. “Don’t you think bots would start asking questions if they saw me carrying you out of my quarters while we both look like we’ve just finished interfacing?” 

“They’d think we interfaced. ‘Cause that’s what we just did. ...What’s the issue, again?” 

“Just forget it. Let me walk you out, and tomorrow you can tell Swerve all about how you found a leash and stasis collar in Ultra Magnus’ office. You accomplished your mission.” 

* * *

The bar’s regulars, relatively few in number at this time of day, all fell silent once Rodimus stepped back onto the scene. He was wearing his usual sunny expression, and it lit up the face of Swerve, who’d paused in the middle of pouring a drink just to greet him. 

“Well, well, well! Look who finally came back to us. Where’ve you been? I gotta tell everyone that they all lost the bet. You took way longer than expected.” 

Rodimus crossed his arms and rested them on the counter coolly. “What can I say? I’m busy. And I’m going to pretend like I didn’t hear anything about a bet.” 

“You got it. And judging by your lack of injuries, I’m guessing Mister Duly Appointed didn’t notice anything was up. So, find anything interesting? You’ve got that look like you know something we don’t.” A few patrons were now creeping toward the bar to catch the gossip, drinks, snacks, and recording devices in hand. 

“Hmm...You’re not gonna believe this, but no. Ultra Magnus is as dull as he looks. Dull, boring, bland, strait-laced, rule-follower. But since I  _ did  _ go out of my way to snoop around, you’d better clear my tab.” 

Swerve frowned as he dispensed another glass of engex. “Sure, fine. But only because you’re co-captain and all that. But from this point onward, you’re paying for your own drinks.” 

Rodimus’ grin went wide. Turning to leave, he called over his shoulder, “Deal. And next time you see Magnus, get him something. You can put it on my tab.” 

  
  



End file.
